


Oh My God, They Were Roommates

by Insomnia_Productions



Series: The Rat Revolution (Mat/Rand Drabbles) [14]
Category: Wheel of Time - Robert Jordan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff and Humor, Getting Together, I finally did it I finally caved and wrote a quarantine fic, Lockdown Fic, M/M, Mutual Pining, Perrin is just trying to live his life, Quarantimes, idiots to lovers, quarantine fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:15:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23631469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Insomnia_Productions/pseuds/Insomnia_Productions
Summary: “Hey, guys,” Mat repeats, “d’you know what we’re in right now?”Perrin frowns. “An apartment?”Mat’s grin widens impossibly. With barely contained glee: “Quarantimes.”Perrin throws a bowl at him. Rand stifles an errant giggle, puts on a deadpan expression, and says, “I take it back. This is the worst.”.Rand and Mat struggle with their long-standing crushes during the lockdown. Meanwhile, Perrin is just trying to live his best life under the circumstances.
Relationships: Rand al'Thor/Mat Cauthon
Series: The Rat Revolution (Mat/Rand Drabbles) [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1415056
Comments: 10
Kudos: 28





	Oh My God, They Were Roommates

**Day One**

Mat dangles out of the window, eyes closed, hoping to catch one last whiff of alcohol— _ any _ alcohol, at this point—before the bar across the street closes forever. 

“It’s only for the next month or two,” Rand chides him, pulling him back in before he tips right out of the window. 

It would have been more merciful to let him fall the six storeys. A month without the bar is more than a death sentence. It’s a cruel and inhumane punishment, and Mat whines his protest loudly as he sinks to the floor beneath the window in a puddle of despair. Rand frowns worriedly at him and ruffles his hair gently—which does make him feel slightly better, though he’ll deny it in court.

Over on the couch, Perrin only rolls his eyes. “Lockdown in a nice apartment with reliable WiFi, my Netflix account to mooch off of, and Rand’s cooking. You’ll survive.” 

Rand has moved away. Mat lets out a piteous sound, partly in protest to Perrin’s oversimplification of his tragic situation, and partly to encourage further headpats. As anticipated, Perrin rolls his eyes again and turns away—though Mat catches a fond smile quirking his lips as he does so—and Rand walks back over and sits next to Mat, patting his shoulder. 

“It’ll be okay, Mat, you’ll see.” He gives one of those warm, gentle smiles. “We’ll have so much free time! We can learn new hobbies, I can keep practicing the flute, maybe we’ll finally get you to cook more than insta-ramen, we can stay up late and watch old movies and you can make fun of them, I know you like that, and…” 

He keeps smiling as he talks, and, in spite of himself, Mat thinks that maybe, just  _ maybe _ , this won’t be so bad. 

.

**Day Two**

“Hey, guys,” Mat says over breakfast, with the widest grin Rand has ever seen. It’s the first time he’s smiled like that since the lockdown was announced, and Rand feels relief and warmth wash over him to see it. 

“Hey, guys,” Mat repeats, “d’you know what we’re in right now?” 

Perrin frowns. “An apartment?” 

Mat’s grin widens impossibly. With barely contained glee:  _ “Quarantimes.”  _

Perrin throws a bowl at him. Rand stifles an errant giggle, puts on a deadpan expression, and says, “I take it back. This is the worst.” 

.

**Day Five**

Rand learns very quickly that there is a slight,  _ slight _ issue in quarantining with his two best friends. It’s no big deal, really, he’s quite sure he can keep the problem contained for the next month or two without making a fool of himself, and the flame and void have always been very helpful in squashing down his emotions, so really there isn’t much of a problem at all, it’s just—he’s in love with one of them. 

It’s easy being in love with Mat when they only see each other in the mornings and evenings, in the few classes they share, and on the weekends. It’s harder on holidays, when the three of them fly back to their shared hometown, spending long days roaming the streets to see what’s new, wandering through meadows and brooks and familiar, unchanging trees. But this? Sharing this tiny apartment with Mat, 24/7, with no work, no school, nothing but each other to keep themselves occupied? This is much, much worse. 

Before the lockdown, when their lives kept them busy and apart, Rand could close his eyes and try to forget why he even liked Mat. The man is an obnoxious bastard, after all, and an absolute mess of a human being. He’d thought that being around him so much would only drive the point home—and, in a way, constant exposure to Mat and all his mattiness has been  _ immensely _ trying, to say the least. He’s so loud, all the time, and he keeps forgetting to do the dishes, and he hogs all the WiFi with his nonstop streaming, not to mention the stupid 48-hour online gaming competition he’s gotten into with the upstairs neighbor. But… 

Well, the problem with nonstop exposure to Mat’s mattiness is that it’s also given Rand a hundred and one reminders why he’d fallen for Mat in the first place. Reminders like his bright smiles, or the sound of his laughter, or his ceaseless snarky comments as he spies on the apartments across the street. Reminders like his infectious mischief, or his inability to go five minutes without referencing Vine, or the way the sun catches his face when he sits on the windowsill at dusk, one leg dangling out, a tiny act of rebellion against the virus keeping them all stuck indoors. 

Rand sighs to himself as Mat’s voice floats over from within the apartment, blasting out some of the most creative trash-talk Rand has ever heard, punctuated by laughter and the muffled, tinny sound of trumpets and victory music. Mat himself zooms into the living room a moment later, still in yesterday’s pajamas, whooping and hollering and wearing the most shit-eating grin Rand has ever seen. His eyes are ringed in dark circles, but they’re bright with vindication, and as as he leaps onto the table—ignoring Perrin’s glare of protest—to scream his victory chant through the ceiling, Rand buries his face in his hands and thinks,  _ I’m fucked.  _

.

**Day Eight**

Mat is so fucked. 

So incredibly, inescapably, irreversibly fucked. 

He’s fucked because he’s stuck inside his apartment for a month straight—’cause, seriously, Mat is a  _ free spirit _ , he can’t be tied down like this!—and, worse, he’s stuck inside his apartment for a month straight with his best friend and the person he’s in love with—and Perrin, of course— _ and even worse than that _ he’s stuck inside his apartment for a month straight with the person he’s in love with and Rand  _ won’t stop playing love songs  _ on that damned flute! 

Look, it’s one thing for Rand to play the flute. It’s one thing for him to sit on the windowsill with the midafternoon sun making his hair look like warm firelight, eyes half-lidded and smiling peacefully every time he pauses for breath. It’s one thing for him to look up at Mat as he plays, eyes bright and crinkled as if to say,  _ look, look, I got the note right, aren’t you proud?  _

That’s all one thing. Something. It’s—something.

It’s another thing  _ entirely  _ for him to play almost exclusively  _ love songs _ while doing all that. It’s like he’s doing it on purpose. It’s like he knows about Mat’s stupid crush and quarantimes have got him so bored that he’s actively trying to torture Mat just for a few snatches of daily entertainment. But that, of course, can’t be true. Right? Right? 

Oh, Light, it hasn’t even been a week and Mat is already losing his mind. This lockdown had better not last more than a month. It had been so  _ easy  _ to love Rand before the quarantine. Mat had had an arrangement with his heart. As long as they were outside of the apartment—which was most of the time—Mat could forget all about his crush. He could go to class, go to work, go to bars and flirt with pretty girls, and never have to spare a moment to think about Rand, save for the occasional errant thought. It was only in the apartment that he would be forced to confront his—ew— _ emotions _ . And in his dreams, of course—his heart held free reign over his dreams, but, well, in a situation like this, you took what you could get and didn’t complain. 

Now, though, he spends every waking minute in the apartment, with Rand—with Rand and his soft hair and his gentle smiles and his pretty eyes and warm laugh and that  _ Light-forsaken flute.  _ It’s  _ maddening.  _

“Mat?” 

Speak of the Dark One and he shall appear—wearing a soft, puzzled smile and framed with a halo of dying sunlight, as it were. 

“Mat, could you come over here a sec? I can’t tell if this note sounds right.” 

Mat puts on a grin, resisting the urge to bang his head against the nearest wall, and walks over to the windowsill. “Sure, Rand. What song are you playing?” 

Rand gives him a smile and an expression so innocent that it bypasses all trickery and circles right back to  _ blood and ashes this man genuinely doesn’t know what he’s doing to me.  _ Blandly, Rand says, “Purple Rain.” 

Mat is so, so fucked. 

.

**Day Nine**

Perrin has taken to birdwatching. He finds an online guide to city birds, mixes his own birdseed from what he finds in the kitchen, and starts laying it out along the windowsill in his bedroom. Hopefully he’ll get some visitors soon. In the meantime, he listens to bird calls on YouTube and starts trying to match the sounds to the birds he hears outside the apartment. 

Quarantimes aren’t so bad, he supposes. 

.

**Day Thirteen**

Rand knows from a good twenty-odd years of experience that Mat gets bored very easily, that he can’t sit still for a minute, that he could be locked up in an empty room with naught but his own mind and still find a hundred ways to get into trouble before noon. So he isn’t surprised when Mat, two weeks into the lockdown, decides to take up juggling. 

What is surprising—although, knowing Mat, it probably shouldn’t be—is that, rather than making use of the many knicknacks, bits and bobs, and half-rotting apples lying around their apartment, Mat has chosen to begin his juggling career with  _ knives.  _

Butter knives. But still. 

Rand sits curled in a chair, unable to tear his eyes away, like he’s watching a car crash in slow motion, or one of those Buzzfeed compilations—pictures taken moments before disaster. 

Perrin catches him watching and snorts. “You might try blinking once or twice.” 

“He’s going to stab himself,” Rand murmurs, half in defense. “Someone needs to protect him from himself.” 

“Sure,” Perrin says, already walking back to his room, carrying—something or other. Rand can’t bring himself to look away from Mat long enough to see what. “Sure, Rand. That’s why.” 

_ Well, _ Rand thinks determinedly,  _ that  _ is _ why.  _

Sure, the way Mat’s standing, he’s backlit by the setting sun, and, sure, the look of pure focus on his face is unfamiliar and strangely alluring, and, alright, yeah, the way his hands move so deftly to catch each knife at the last second is thrilling and impressive—but the stabbing thing is the primary reason, obviously. Obviously. 

This is fine. 

. 

**Day Fourteen**

Mat graduates from butter knives to steak knives. 

This time, even Perrin can’t look away. 

Rand is too busy having an aneurysm to feel vindicated. 

.

**Day Seventeen**

Perrin has four regulars to his bird feed window now: a bluejay, two sparrows, and a crow. They come at different times of day, like they’ve organized some sort of schedule. It’s the kind of thing a bird would do, Perrin thinks. They’re very smart creatures. 

He reads up on bird diets, and starts to differentiate their feed. He thinks they’ll appreciate that. 

.

**Day Nineteen**

It’s three in the morning and Mat sits stone-still on the sofa, almost vibrating with nervous energy and the sheer effort it takes not to move. He should’ve known it was a mistake to have a  _ Lord Of The Rings  _ marathon with Rand “I can stay up all night, Mat, of course I can, what are you talking about?” al’Thor. 

Onscreen, Sméagol is making his gradual and indescribably disturbing transition into Gollum, but Mat stopped watching a good forty-five minutes ago, when, right in the middle of the Ents’ takeover of Isengard, Rand had let out a soft yawn and fallen asleep. That would have been fine, but Rand, in a moment of pure slumberous treachery, had managed to lean into Mat, curling up against his side like a red retriever puppy. Now Mat can’t move, but he can’t even enjoy the movie, either, which—look, okay, Mat really does love Rand with his entire heart, such as it were, but this is the  _ Lord  _ of the _ Rings _ they’re talking about, and love comes and goes, but LOTR is forever. 

The movie ends three hours later, the credits rising with the sun, and Mat remains motionless through it all—he hasn’t sat still for this long in his  _ life _ . 

An hour or so after sunrise, Rand finally stirs, and blinks confusedly up at Mat for a moment before rocketing away, face turned to the window. In a strange tone, he says, “Sorry about that.” 

“No problem,” Mat forces out. He can see his reflection in the black screen of the TV. He looks like a damn raccoon. Mat is no stranger to staying up into the ungodly hours, but this was—quite different. Quite different. 

Rand seems to hesitate a moment, putting his hands in his pockets and taking them out again. “Did you—sleep well?” 

“Yep,” Mat says, popping the ‘p’, and promptly passes out. 

.

**Day Twenty-One**

The birds have been absent for a few days, but the last time the crow came, she left Perrin a shiny clip and a broken pendant, so Perrin is sure she, at least, will come back in her own time. 

In the meanwhile, he notices that two new spiders have taken up residence in his room—one next to his desk, and the other in a corner near the window. He names the window one Varys, and the desk one Claude. He knows less about spiders than he does about birds, but he likes to imagine that they like the names. 

. 

**Day Twenty-Three**

Mat and Rand start working on a puzzle. 

It’s an old, dusty thing, a gift from someone back in Emond’s Field a long time ago, something they’ve both been meaning to work on for years but never gotten around to doing. It has one thousand small pieces and the scene is ridiculously complex—some sort of magical battle between two men in the sky, a golden dragon curling around the frame. It’s frustrating at times, or most of the time, really, but it’s nice, sitting in silence together, sorting pieces, the only sounds being low Lofi music playing on Rand’s laptop and the occasional huff of annoyance or short burst of triumphant laughter as something clicks. 

They work on the puzzle for a solid twenty hours, and, as the moon drifts idly between the stars, Rand lifts the final piece, hand hovering over the empty space in the puzzle, and smiles. 

“Well?” Mat prompts, looking tired but sounding eager. 

Rand looks at him. “It’s the last piece. We should do it together.”

Mat blinks at him a moment, before a slow grin, easy spreads across his face. “Alright.” 

It’s only when Mat leans over to place his hand over Rand’s that Rand realizes he hadn’t quite thought this through—but, in the night, with only the moon and a dim lamp lighting the room, it doesn’t seem to matter. 

Sharing a grin, they lower their hands together, and the final piece clicks into place. 

.

**Day Twenty-Eight**

“Think they’ll end the lockdown soon?”

Rand shrugs. 

“It’s been almost a month,” Mat continues. It’s sunset and they’re sharing the living room windowsill, watching the orange light flicker across the black windows of all the shut-down shops on the street. “And it’s getting warmer.” 

Rand shrugs again. “Who knows?” 

Mat grins slightly. “ _ WHO  _ knows.” 

“Original,” Rand deadpans, but he feels himself smile anyway, turning his gaze to Mat. Quietly, consideringly, he murmurs, “Well, would another month be so bad?” Mat looks at him in askance and Rand’s smile softens. “Lockdown isn’t great, but… it’s been kind of nice. Getting to spend more time together. Right?” 

Mat blinks, and slowly smiles. “Right.” They stay like that a moment, just smiling, before Mat huffs a short laugh, ducking his head. “Light, Rand.” 

“What?”

“You really have no idea, do you?”

“What?” Rand frowns. “No idea about what?”

Mat laughs again, shaking his head, looking back up at Rand with the strangest expression. “Nothing.” 

There’s something in his expression, or his voice, or maybe the dusk light, that gives Rand a sudden flutter of cautious hope. 

“Nothing,” he repeats softly. “Nothing.” He can feel himself leaning closer, and it might just be imagination, or wishful thinking, but it seems like Mat is leaning closer, too. He gets the question out without really hearing himself speak, the distance between them growing smaller with each whispered word. “Would nothing be… something like… this?” 

The next few minutes pass in a daze, but, when they finally part, Rand is pretty sure he’s going to remember the grin Mat gives him for the rest of his life. 

.

**Day Thirty**

The lockdown is extended another month. 

Mat and Rand share a smile. 

Perrin shuts the door on them and goes back to feeding his birds. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> i haven't left my house in over a month
> 
> .
> 
> im back babeeeeeey 
> 
> lockdown really sucks, especially the fact that my last month of school was shifted online and I still don't know if we'll get a real graduation, but I do have a lot of free time now. I can relax in a way I haven't been able to since I was 11, so I guess I can't complain. 
> 
> Anyway, here's some Rat in quarantine and Perrin just trying to live his life. 
> 
> As always, please leave a comment if you liked it because comments are my life blood (especially during quarantimes) and hey, if you wanna talk about cauthor or WoT in general, hmu on Tumblr @insomnia-productions :D


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